


Buttons

by maplecrunch



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Clothing Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24082855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maplecrunch/pseuds/maplecrunch
Summary: Freddie helps Roger out of a tight situation. Set in 1979.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Buttons

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this several years ago, and decided I wanted it up on AO3 for a fresh set of eyes :)

Freddie had grown accustomed to a certain amount of commotion backstage when shows ended. It was natural to hear excited post-show discussions, people stripping and changing back into street-clothes, the scramble of instruments packed away and slid into the trunks of cars, lights being taken down. Any number of things could be noisy at this time—usually it was several things at once.

So it was strange to turn up there after an autograph session and hear nothing but a faint voice muttering away. Freddie peered round the wall, seeing a figure in the corner. He crept up, and there was Roger, sat on a rather squeaky chair, picking helplessly at the buttons on his tight blue jeans.

"They left me," Roger was saying to himself. "In my moment of need, they up and left me. Said, 'Your problem now,' and left me. I can't believe it. I can't believe they fucking left me."

"So you're saying they left you," Freddie said, amused.

Roger looked up with a start. "Freddie?"

"Having a bit of trouble with our trousers, are we?"

"Oh don't you start too." Roger bent his head down and again began to fiddle with the buttons. "Why they couldn't've just put a zipper and be done with it is beyond me."

"It's part of the look, dear."

"But _seven?_ "

Freddie sighed. He could go on about the difficulties of shimmying out of his jumpsuits—compared to that, a seven-button pair of jeans was child's play. "Is it something I can help with?"

"Would you?"

Roger shifted on the chair then, inciting a sharp creak from it, and opened his legs. Well, all right then.

Freddie got the first button undone easily enough, popping it out of its hole with just a bit of effort, and could see an immediate change in Roger; he lay back and let out a deep breath.

"That feels better," he said, sliding around in his chair.

"One button?"

"Hey, imagine crouching over a set of drums for two hours wearing those."

Freddie did imagine it, for a second (a rather enjoyable one), but quickly put it out of his mind. There were more important matters to attend to.

The second button posed more of a challenge. Freddie shifted his thumb up again and again, failing to undo it until he worked his nail through the hole. Two hands were required to loosen the third.

"Jesus! How did you get _into_ these things?" he asked, tearing futilely away at the fourth.

"I'm fairly certain it was your choice, my dear."

"Yes, but—did you use a crowbar, or what?"

"It involved a lot of baby oil, now can you get back to work?"

_The nerve of him,_ Freddie thought, finally jerking the fourth button loose. To go onstage in nothing _but_ those tight little jeans, his rear on splendid display, and work up a storm. It was highly unfair of him to capitalise on all the sex appeal. Freddie had gone through all the trouble of choosing the perfect leather jacket, trousers, and boots, and yet all eyes were on Roger in his pretty blondeness. Typical.

"Fre-dde-ee," Roger whined, wiggling his legs. "Why'd you have to stop?"

Oh, and of course, he'd let it go to his head and was acting like an utter spoiled brat. Freddie tutted at him. "Roger, you couldn't get one of these undone yourself for—how long, was it?"

"Twenty-five minutes."

Freddie snorted. "Then shut up and let me work."

Roger pouted, but he left him to it. As he tugged at the fifth button—the toughest yet—Freddie became aware of something worrying: even _he_ couldn't escape Roger's sex appeal. He understood why the girls all went crazy for him. Those thighs were...something. Something he had to shake his head at, maybe, to get out the impulses flooding his mind. He reached up and, experimentally, tugged at the waistband of the jeans, exposing a little bit more of Roger's briefs (pink leopard???). Freddie had to catch his breath.

"Oh, shut up, these are the only ones I had left."

"No, don't you realise?" Freddie smiled. "They're coming off!" He pushed the fifth button through with a quick, forceful motion and set to work on the sixth. "Your jeans, I mean."

"You know, I'd like to go out tonight," Roger said, tapping his foot and looking the other way.

"Well!" Freddie took his hands off his fly. "Would _you_ like to finish the job?"

"No! No! Keep it going, I mean, it's nice, I like it."

Freddie paused.

"I like—having them off, I mean," Roger added, a bit too loudly. He scooted forward on the chair, earning a _creak_ that did not sound good to Freddie's ears. "Oh, just get on with it."

"...right." Freeing the sixth, Freddie blew on his hands (they were getting a bit sore) and placed them on the last button.

"Are you excited to have these off?" Freddie grinned.

"Yes." Roger eyed him, squinting. "I'd like them off so that I can go enjoy the rest of my night. Nothing else."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Rog," said Freddie, sighing, and pulled apart the last button. "Now—you're probably going to want to get out of that chair for this part, it doesn't look too stable."

"What?"

"Well I have to sort of wiggle you _out_ of the jeans—"

"Fuck that, I can do it myself," Roger said, linking his thumbs in the belt-loops and pushing them down.

A mighty _SQUEAK!_ sounded, and within seconds he was on the floor, the chair finally having bitten the dust beneath him.

Roger blinked. "I—suppose I deserved that."

Freddie smiled, crawled over next to him, and shimmied off the jeans. "And I suppose you're going to want me to massage your arse next?"

"Oh, bugger off." He was quiet for a moment, reconsidering. "I mean, thank you. And _kindly_ bugger off."

Freddie did as he was told, still smiling as he wandered off. He stopped at the doorway, though, when he heard another faint sound.

"Actually..."


End file.
